Emily with Age
by TeenAgeRiot99
Summary: You're 19 when she walks out of your life. When you let her walk out of your life. You think about her year after year. In second POV from Naomi's perspective. It's probably a really shitty story.


 **Where the fuck have I been? I'm so sorry! I can't apologize enough. I've been insanely busy with work and school. But I shouldn't be making excuses.**

 **I'm truly sorry for leaving you all in the dark for so long.**

 **The next chapter of The Story of a Dying Girl will be out on Sunday.**

 **As always, it's probably really shitty.**

 **Enjoy! Or don't. I won't tell you what to do.**

 **19:**

You knew it was a big mistake.

But you let it happen all the same.

And maybe it was because you were a coward.

 _Are_ a coward.

Let's face it- it's definitely because you're a coward.

Why else would you have let Emily leave the room that day when she asked you:

"So this is it?"

And you didn't know what to say so you said nothing and watched her turn around, and watched as she walked out the door, and out of your life.

And in a way you knew exactly what would happen if you watched in silence as she made her way out of the room.

You knew if she left, that was it.

No more Emily.

And despite everything within yourself telling you otherwise, screaming at you, pleading with you, begging for you to act, it happened.

You knew you should say something. Do something.

You let her walk out the door.

And you have no one to blame but yourself.

You coward.

 **21:**

Red shoes on the man that passed you by.

Red lipstick on the woman that handed you your coffee.

Two years later and everything was still red.

And maybe it would always be.

You were a coward at 19.

You're a coward at 21.

A coward with a job and an agenda, and that desperate feeling to be alone and your very own person.

And so you tried not to think of her.

It's been two years, right? Why think of her?

There can still be a Naomi without an Emily.

That's what you kept on telling yourself.

Maybe one day you'll believe it.

 **22:**

A year older, possibly a year wiser.

You couldn't tell.

But what you could tell was that the girl at the office kept checking you out. Kept glancing back at you with hopeful, slightly sad, slightly not, eyes.

You knew she liked you.

Maybe you knew it from the way she always seemed to be touching your arm.

Maybe you knew it from the way she always stared at you.

Maybe you knew it because she told you.

Like actually walked up to you and told you.

And what did you do?

What was the first thing that went through your mind?

Was it something about this exciting prospect of new love?

Of course it wasn't.

The first thing you thought was:

Emily.

Three years later and despite how hard you've tried to go about unaffected, guess what, you're affected.

And maybe you'll always be.

When she didn't get much of a response from you, the girl simply kissed your cheek and walked away.

Just like Emily.

 **22 (1 month later):**

The girl doesn't stare at you anymore.

You overheard her talking to a coworker.

"God, Naomi is really pretty and totally my type. Too bad she's in a relationship."

"She's in a relationship?"

"A person can't be that in love and not be in a relationship."

Oh how that girl was wrong.

 **23:**

That's four years of you life since she walked out.

Four years since you let her.

Four years that you could have spent next to her.

You saw her the other day. You thought.

You saw her at the park, walking by herself, tossing out pieces of bread to the ducks that flocked around her.

"Emily?"

No response.

"Emily!"

The woman looked at you.

It was not Emily.

You walked straight home, skipping the subway.

The walk was four miles.

You didn't even notice.

 **24:**

You're over her. Oh you must be!

Emily? Emily who?

And you felt like that for a whole month in your life.

Then you saw an old movie on TV.

And that movie had a familiar feeling.

You remembered then.

You had seen it with Emily.

You tried to get rid of that thought.

Your girlfriend asked you what was wrong.

"Nothing." 

She believed it.

You knew better.

 **24 (three months later):**

You guys broke up.

You were in love.

Just not with her.

 **25:**

What ever became of Emily?

Was she dating someone? Married?

Was she even in the same country?

Turns out your mom knew.

"She's in New York. She became a wonderful photographer I heard."

And that was the moment you knew you should have gone to see her.

Pack your bags. Buy a ticket.

Go get your girl!

Well, she wasn't yours anymore.

Hadn't been for 7 years.

And what if she was someone else's?

"She's not," your mom said. "And she could be yours. So how about you do something so I don't die without having grandkids."

So did you go buy the ticket?

Did you go find her?

No. You didn't.

You were a coward at 19.

Not much has changed at 25.

 **26:**

It keeps you up some nights.

A lot of nights.

Why does it bother you so much? It's been seven years! It's time to move on! It's been time to move on for years now!

You try asking Cook about it, as you sit in an old dingy pub.

He looks at you with sad eyes.

"Does anyone ever get over their first love?"

Effy.

So tonight you try to sleep but how can you when she's out there in her bed, and you're here in yours.

How can you sleep knowing that tomorrow you will wake up, and it's not like the times when you were 17?

How can you sleep knowing you're 26 now, and you're whole love life consists of her?

So why don't you do something about it?

Why don't you stop being a coward?

You fall asleep later that night.

 **27:**

You blow out the birthday candles.

Happy 27th birthday, you say to yourself.

You allow yourself to think that this will be the year that she sends you a card.

You're not sure why she would, but it's much easier to pretend like she will than to accept the fact that she hasn't sent you one once over these last years, and she won't send you one ever.

You check the mail anyways.

You're disappointed again this year.

 **27 (2 months later):**

How ridiculous must you be to find yourself still pining over this girl!

Your girlfriend clutches your hand tightly.

But it doesn't feel right, the way her hand sits in yours.

It's never felt right before, and it doesn't feel right tonight.

You should love this girl.

But you don't.

Maybe it's because you can't, not in the way you're supposed to.

And maybe that's it for you.

In that heart of yours, there is a spot meant for the girl with the red hair and the timid smile and that button nose.

But she's in New York.

And you're here.

 **27 (six months later):**

There's no crying when you guys break up.

And so you find yourself on the gross old couch at Cook's place.

You have to remind yourself that you're not 18 anymore.

And as you go on about something about work and something about politics, Cook turns to you with a look you've seen a few times before.

"I love you, okay?"

"Okay?"

"So don't take offense when I say this."

"Say what?"

"Fuck you."

The way he says it makes you shudder. There's no hatred in it, almost like he's stating a fact.

"What?"

"Listen. You'd know I'd die for you. I fucking love you. But you sit here, talking about these things, when she's out there."

"Who's out there?"

You know exactly who _she_ is.

You're still a coward at 27.

"You know who."

"Cook…."

"The love of your life is out there, not married, not dating, just there! And what are you doing on this fucking fine evening?! You're talking to me about work!"

"Cook…."

"I would kill to have that. I would kill to have the love of my life out there, somewhere, somehow. I would kill to have that chance."

You swallow the lump in your throat as you think about Effy.

26 pills and a bottle of red had ended the enigma that was Effy.

"I would love to have her out there, under the same stars as me, in the same world."

"Cook…."

Is that all you can say?

"So don't waste anymore time."

You book a ticket for New York the next day.

 **27 (3 days later):**

You find yourself walking around in this huge city.

How are you supposed to find her? 

Your mom told you she was still single, still taking pictures.

And so you walk around, trying to find the girl that makes your knees weak.

You don't find her.

 **27 (1 day later):**

It must be about 7 pm.

Another day of searching for her with no result.

You walk into a park, nameless. Nothing special.

And you think about your life.

Eight years of your life and you've spent them thinking about her.

When does it end?

And you would have missed it if you blinked.

The flash of red that passed you by.

You follow it.

All these years and you're still drawn to that color.

And the red walks down the block, the empty block, and starts to approach a café.

And for the first time in eight years, you're not a coward.

"Emily!"

She turns around.

Timid smile.

Button nose.

Red hair.

"Emily." Your voice catches.

"Naomi." The way she says your name makes you wonder what the fuck you've been doing for the last eight years.

"Do you wanna go get some coffee with me?"

The question is simple and complicated all at once.

She looks at her feet for a bit and you feel like a scared kid again.

After what feels like forever, she looks up at you, a beautiful smile forming.

"Yeah. I'd like that."

You walk into the café.

For the first time in eight years, you don't feel like a coward.

 **Alrighty.**

 **I know it sucked and I'm sorry once again for the wait.**

 **Your words still mean so much to me.**

 **Please let me know what you thought.**

 **Thanks again for everything.**


End file.
